


Triangle Sandwiches

by Psychopersonified



Series: Are we ever going to talk about this? [8]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Hunour, Insecurities, M/M, fluff with plot, jealous bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: Bond's turn to meet someone from Q's past. How does he handle it? Not as well as he should.A fun little piece with a setup that I might want to explore in future. Enjoy!
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Are we ever going to talk about this? [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763425
Comments: 16
Kudos: 169





	Triangle Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

> There's references to backstories in this one. So it might be useful to read the rest of the series (if you haven't already) to get a better picture, but can be read as a standalone as well.
> 
> If you have been following my stories, then this is a 'flashback' to a few weeks before Shadow Architect.

**SIS Building, Cafeteria outdoor patio - Lunch**

The sunny weather makes the outdoor seating of Six’s fifth floor cafeteria immensely popular. Tables and seats are in high demand and zealously guarded. There is no calling ahead for a reservation, no deference to hierarchy here, not even M would be able to find a seat if he didn’t come and claim it himself; or have Moneypenny do it for him. So Q guards his prize find, enjoying the view of the city out over the Thames while he waits for his lunch date to return with food. 

“Benjamin? Oh my goodness it is you!” Someone cries out excitedly next to him before plopping into the seat opposite. 

It takes Q a few long seconds to recover from the shock, he’s the last person Q was expecting to see, “Alistair? Hi… what are you doing here?” 

Alistair chuckles at Q’s wonderfully stunned expression, “I’m representing the National Cyber Security Centre’s (NCSC) liaison office. There’s a project we’re working on with your IT Branch… And yourself?”

“I… I work here. Q-Branch,” was all Q could manage at first. “Sorry I wasn’t expecting to see you here, my goodness you look well.”

Alistair laughs it off, “So this is what happened to you. You just disappeared after uni. No one knew where you went!” 

Q dips his head and smiles in contrition. He really was a shit friend to anyone outside of the service. As soon as he received his doctoral degree he practically vanished into life in Q-Branch; taking on a new name, cutting ties and wiping most of his digital footprint. 

He regretted none of it then, the cocky young engineer eager to work on clandestine projects that materially impacted national security - nothing his corporate worshipping peers were interested in, most of them scrambling over each other for internships at any of the Fortune 500. Older now and wiser, he sometimes wondered if he could have impacted the world more, or less, had he went the corporate route. He certainly would have made more money… 

“Yes well, part of the job,” Q deflects. “So… NCSC. Wasn’t that _my_ dream? And who mocked me about it? How did you end up in government service?” They’d discussed post-uni plans years ago and Q had always used the NCSC as part of his narrative. 

It was not untrue; the agency actively sought him out even before he left uni and if he wasn’t already working for MI6 back then he might have actually have accepted. Alistair had taunted him for it, his plan had always been to go private and be the next Tech billionaire or something equally ostentatious. 

Alistair smiles charmingly, ”Guess I found my true calling?” throwing Q’s old university words back at him. 

“ _Bullshit_. Your true calling is spending venture capital money on holidays whilst propping up a floundering startup,” Q jabs back playfully. They both laugh outright. Amazing how they can slip back into their old banter so easily. 

When the laughter dies down, Alistair regards Q more carefully, “You look well yourself…,” he points at Q’s cardigan and says softly, “… You know, I saw that cardigan in the store the other day, and the first person I thought of was _you_.” Alistair leaves it at that - open to interpretation.

Q is taken aback by it. He looks away from the blue gaze, uncomfortable with the intensity and the memories it was bringing back. _What is it with him and blue eyed boys?_

Mark appears that moment, carrying his tray, “Sorry it took so long.” He seats himself next to Alistair, “Ah, Q! Awesome. Have you two met? Alistair this is Collin Mitchell, the bloke I told you about. The Shadow Network was his idea.”

Realisation dawns on Alistair’s features, “It’s _Collin_ now, is it? I knew I recognised the programming.”

“You two know each other?” Mark points his fork between the two of them, catching on. 

“Yes. From uni. We wrote a paper together…. Those were great times,” Alistair says with a large dose of nostalgia.

“Awesome! This project should be a doddle then. Q, you recall the request from NCSC to present the Shadow Network concept at NATO’s Cybersecurity conference? They sent Alistair here to work with us.” 

As Mark explains, a shadow falls across the table briefly as someone settles so unobtrusively into the seat next to Q and opposite Mark that he seemed to materialise out of thin air. He appears to be a random employee at first until he picks out a sandwich and a travel mug from his tray and sets it in front of Q. 

“Q’s usually really busy with his department, but Mallory has given him leave to help with this since he wrote most of the code,” Mark continues talking, unperturbed by the newcomer.

“I see… well aren’t we lucky?” Alistair says with a hint of something more. He looks like he wants to continue talking about the project but his eyes flick to the man scarfing down a salmon steak next to Q. 

Mark realises that they have not been introduced, “Oh! This is James Bond. He’s with… Operations. Bond, Alistair Turner from NCSC liaison office,” Alistair and Bond regard each other politely. 

“So this presentation, how long do we have and what kind of granularity are we providing?” Q probes for more detail. 

“We have six weeks to prepare the presentation and the technical paper. Not long, I’ll admit. Not going to lie, it will probably involve some late night takeaways, but nothing we haven’t done before. It’ll be just like old times,” Alistair is quick to shrug off any concern they might have. Bond slows down his eating, the throwaway comment piquing his interest. He decides he does not like what ‘old times’ imply, he’ll quiz Q on it later. 

Q has his reservations, firstly he wasn’t too keen on sharing the concept with the wider world yet and secondly, this project takes him away from a multitude of other ones he’s working on. “Well I’m happy to help where I can. I suppose you’ll be expecting me to put together the technical documentation for this?” 

The discussion turns to technical talk and Bond loses track of it. But he does notice that Q hasn’t unwrapped his sandwich, so he retrieves it and does what he usually do in these situations - unwrap the sandwich and cut it up into neat little triangles and slides it stealthily back in front of the preoccupied quartermaster. 

When Q finally looks down and sees the cut-up sandwich, he picks up a small triangle and starts eating - attention still on the conversation. If Alistair notices the oddity of it all, he makes no note of it. 

One thing Bond does catch in the conversation is what Alistair is hinting - that he wants Q to present at the conference. “So Mark, are you presenting?” Bond asks deliberately obtuse, just to see what happens.

“What? No.. it’s an NCSC project, I think they’ll be taking centre stage?” Mark demures and looks to Alistair for confirmation. 

Alistair doesn’t reply immediately, “Actually, I was thinking Benji could do the presentation. After all it’s Six that came up with the idea. We don’t want to be stealing your thunder.”

“Collin. It’s Collin now…,” Bond corrects him firmly with just enough of a veneer of politeness to be interpreted as friendly. The way Alistair says ‘Benji’ grates on his nerves and Q hasn’t been Benjamin Michaels for nearly a decade. That life is behind him - it would do well for Alistair to acknowledge that. 

“…NCSC passing up the chance to be centre stage at a high visibility international event? Are you sure you work for the liaison office?” he finishes the sceptical remark with a smirk.

Alistair doesn’t take the bait. He laughs at Bond’s sarcasm and admits sheepishly, “Of course you’ll be presenting under our banner. We are footing the bill after all.” There’s the catch.

“Paid for trip to Brussels for a whole week? Are we all going?” Mark asks excitedly. 

“Mark can present. Frankly, I don’t have the time to spare. The parts for the DB10 just arrived and we’re starting fitting soon. I mean I’ll hep you where you need, but I don’t see how I can leave the country for the next few months,” Q reaffirms the conditions. 

Alistair looks disappointed but undeterred. “Look let’s not worry about this now. I’ll have a word with Mallory and see what I can do,” He winks conspiratorially at Q. 

Q is about to say _NO_ , he does _not_ want Alistair to have a word with M. He really isn’t interested in going to Brussels at the moment. But Alistair suddenly reaches across the table to clasp Q’s hand, surprising him. The over familiar gesture is a not so subtle nod to their shared past.

“Benji, I know that look,” Alistair studies him with soft eyes, his gaze flicking down to Q’s ringless left hand for a moment. “Don’t worry about it. Remember how much fun we used to have pulling all nighters before a presentation?” he stymies the coming protest with a playful smile. 

Not even Mark misses the implication this time, gaping a little - his laden fork pausing on its way to his mouth. And Bond, it is safe to assume is _NOT_ pleased. The man _never_ trifles with his food - so when he drops the knife and fork onto his unfinished plate and shoves the tray a few inches away in disgust; there is no clearer warning sign. 

Q politely pulls his hand away the same time he feels the agent’s possessive arm drape heavily over the back of his chair… _Ah shit._

Alistair is so intent on Q’s features, he doesn’t seem notice. “Right, I think I’m done here. Anyone know where can I go for a smoke?” All three men point to the area at the corner of the outdoor patio behind some planters where a few others are huddling around. 

“Perfect. Really great seeing you again Benji. See you guys in a bit!” Alistair picks up his empty tray and leaves. 

Q concentrates on his sandwich, not wanting to meet the curious eyes of the other two at the table. 

“What the fuck was that?? Is he an ex-boyfriend?” Mark asks shocked, beating Bond to the punch. 

“Of sorts…,” Q mumbles into his sandwich. “It was years ago! Back when I was completing my doctorate degree. We co-wrote a paper together…” Q side eyes Bond whose expression grows stormier. 

“How long were _Benji_ and Alistair together?” Bond asks, deliberately mocking Alistair’s use of Q’s old pseudonym.

“About a year?… It wasn’t terribly serious. If anything it was the intense pressure of the project, and the proximity that drove us together. When the project was done, there really wasn’t anything left in it… at least for me.”

“For you. How did he feel about it?” Bond tries to assess if there is unfinished business between them. 

“The same… I guess? We parted amicably, but it wasn’t like I followed up with him after that. As soon as I completed my PhD, Boothroyd put me to work full-time,” Q defends himself. 

“How do you feel about working with him again? It’s not going to be awkward is it?” Mark looks like he’s having indigestion. If there is one thing he doesn’t handle well is uncomfortable situations… that and public speaking. 

Bond’s expression is unreadable, he finishes off the tea in Q’s travel mug and moves to stand, “I’m feeling like a smoke today…” he tells them and leaves in the same direction as Alistair.

“Jaaamees,” Q calls after him exasperated. The bastard doesn’t even smoke on a regular basis and only does so if the mission requires it. Q watches as Bond bums a cigarette off Alistair and starts to draw him into a conversation - Q recognises the signs of an operative slipping into reconnaissance mode. 

—————

**Q-Branch - 6pm**

“James, I’m going to be a while more. Why don’t you take the car and head home first? I’ll catch a taxi later,” Q tells him absently when he comes at around six to collect the quartermaster. 

“How much longer will you be?” Bond looks around at the empty lab. It’s not unusual for him to wait an hour or two while Q finishes up. 

“Not quite sure. Mark and Alistair are coming down here to discuss the presentation,” he clarifies as he backs away from the microscope and puts away the glass slide.

Bond keeps a cool face but Q doesn’t need the Smart Blood program to tell him that the agent’s breathing pattern changed the moment he mentioned Alistair. 

“It’s going to be boring technical talk,” Q supplements while he moves about tidying up his lab space. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of…,” Bond mumbles from where he sits arms crossed on the edge of Q’s desk. If there is one thing he can’t keep up with, it’s technical talk. Mansfield had once called him a blunt instrument, an apt description but he isn’t exactly daft either. Though a walk through Q-Branch can make anyone feel inadequate. 

His ‘talk’ with Alistair during their cigarette break did nothing to assuage his fears. The man is not too shabby himself - obviously smart in his own right, around Q’s age, reasonably athletic and the type of chiselled-cheek handsome that wouldn’t be out of place on magazine covers. Worse… the man still heaped praises about _Benji’s_ brilliant mind, his quirky if sometimes patronising personality and atrocious fashion sense.

Bond has his insecurities and not measuring up is one. With an insecurity like that, you’d think he’d choose a less challenging partner intellectually, but its precisely the genius and wit that he’s attracted to. 

“James…,” _not this again_ , “You’ve got nothing to worry about. He’s not really my type. Now, if he came down here in full military regalia, it would be a different matter altogether,” Q jokes, knowing full well that Bond would have done a background check on Alistair by now and he’d know that the man has no military past.

Bond is unmoved. “Does it have to be down here?” he sweeps his arm around the darkened lab. Far too cosy and private, much to his consternation. “Does he even have the right clearance?” 

Since no one is around, Q steps into the circle of Bond’s arms, between the agent’s legs and snakes his arms around the broad shoulders. 

He kisses James briefly, dismissing his concern. “Mark will be here chaperoning the whole time, if it worries you,” Q is pleased at himself that he managed to the keep the eye roll out of his response. It’s endearing that James is jealous, who would have thought it possible? 

Bond has his arms around the whipcord thin body instantly, hands squeezing and groping affectionately. He can feel the warm flesh through the soft cashmere cardigan. His inner child declares: _Mine!_

He buries his nose at the base Q’s throat, right in the space between the tie and shirt and inhales - filling his nose with the scent of home and belonging. Something happens when you launder two peoples’ clothes together, the individual scents combine into something recognisable as _us_. If you think about it, it is incredibly intimate. 

“There’s a rumour going around…” Bond starts, voice slightly muffled. His breath coming in warm puffs that seep through Q’s shirt, “… that Mallory is looking at Alistair as a possible candidate to replace Hayden.” 

Now that _is_ a neat little bombshell. 

With the Head of IT Timothy Hayden forced into early retirement due to his extramarital indiscretion that put MI6’s security at risk, the rumour mill has been rife with speculation about what will happen to the department. If M was looking to promote from within the ranks, Hayden’s deputy, Mark Trent and Q’s best programming buddy at Six, would be the obvious choice. But Mark is a sweetheart and also for the lack of a better word - browbeaten from years of abuse under Hayden. Mallory isn’t too keen on him taking the lead. 

Then there is the _other_ rumour, that Mallory is going to dust off Mansfield’s old plan to combine IT and Q-Branches and make the Quartermaster head of both. It doesn’t even bear thinking. Q has no patience for the day-to-day runnings of enterprise IT - unless it’s to hack, circumvent or subvert it. 

“Where did you hear that from?” Q pinches the tips of Bond’s ears. Bond pinches him back around the ribs, refusing to look at him - nose still buried under Q’s tie.

“Good spies never divulge their sources,” Bond tries to be enigmatic. _Yeah right_. It is likely that he heard from Moneypenny. And the rumour might be why Bond’s mood has deteriorated even further since lunch.

“Well, Alistair certainly has the technical knowledge. If he and Mark get along, it might be a good choice.”

* _Hmmph_ * Bond lets loose a petulant huff against his chest. Q can’t resist needling him in this state, “You wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you? Me… Alistair… late Friday nights, playing Cyberwargames—” the resulting growl reverberates through him, making his hair stand on end - though it sounded more sulky than threatening.

“Maybe he’ll need a lift home… maybe we’ll stop somewhere for dinner—,” that pushes Bond over the edge and he turns his head to give Q a warning bite, right on the collarbone.

“OWw!!.. James!” that _hurt!_ even through the layers. 

Mark and Alistair choose the moment to buzz the entrance to Q-Branch. 

Q gives Bond a final pat on the shoulder, then makes to move so he can swipe his guests in and nearly trips when Bond refuses to unwrap his arms from around him; instead trapping Q further by squeezing him tight around the hips with his thighs. 

“Go home,” he tells Bond resolutely. 

“I trust Mark’s chaperoning skills as much as I trust a miniature poodle to defend sheep from wolves.”

“Are you implying that Mark is a poodle and I’m sheep? And seriously if anyone is a wolf here, it’s _you_ ,” Q tries and fails to dodge a kiss.

“Well let’s keep it that way,” Bond huffs annoyed against his lips. 

“Mmm… You’re not making sense anymore,” the buzzer goes off a second time. This time, Bond releases him.

—

Mark and Alistair bring pizza and beers for dinner and the group settle around the cosy makeshift lounge to eat and discuss. Alistair is charming and friendly and says all the right things, even making an observation about Q’s favourite Chesterfield sofas and how much character they add to the place. 

Q is careful to position Mark between Alistair and himself, to the approval of Bond if his smile is any indication. Just when Q thinks Bond is finally going to leave, Alistair makes a cheerful if ill-timed remark before taking a swig of his beer, “It’s just like uni again!”

 _Ah… shit._ That remark alone was enough to compel Bond to claim ( _uninvited)_ , a slice of pizza and a beer before planting himself quite conspicuously on an armchair nearby to read some random engineering magazine he’d lifted off a minion’s desk. 

He’s not even _trying_ to be subtle about it. 

An hour in, and Bond needs to use the men’s room. Partly because of the beer, and partly because if he has to hear Alistair say ‘Benji’ with such offensive familiarity again - he just might punch the man. Mr-You’ll-always-be-Benji-to-me just won’t take the polite hint that its a security risk to keep using the old cover. Bond is giving him until tomorrow; his next hint isn’t going to be so polite. 

As soon as Bond is out of earshot, Alistair leans close to Q and poses the question that has been weighing on his mind, “Sorry Benji… who is he again?” he jerks a thumb in the direction of the empty armchair. 

Bond has clearly not contributed anything to the discussion and there is no one else in the deserted lab. Aside from brooding handsomely in the chair, he has served no obvious function. It is a mystery to him why the man is there at all. 

“Bond? He’s from Operations,” Q misunderstands the question.

“So when you say Operations, is he like an operative?” Alistair asks curious. The intelligence services as a whole is predictably full of euphemisms, and SIS is the worst offender. His brief encounter with the man tells him he’s unlikely a desk jockey. The insouciant smile and easy quiet confidence says he’s someone used to getting things his way one way or another. 

“He’s a… field tester. Equipment validation. Makes sure what comes out of the lab is fit for deployment,” technically true without over divulging. 

“Right… I don’t mean to be rude but, why is he here? Does he moonlight as your round the clock intern or something? His presence is a little unnerving,” Alistair hazards guess. Benjamin seems to be quite the enigmatic figure around Six. Everyone refers to him simply as Q or Quartermaster. So perhaps there might be more to his work that requires him to have a round the clock minder?

“Ah… I must apologise for his behaviour,” _James you bastard_. _Thank you for making a guest feel uncomfortable on the first day._ “He can be over… dedicated at times. He’s my partner—“

“Oh, I see…,” the relief in Alistair’s tone is palpable, ”What an interesting organisational structure. Is there an advantage to pairing up Tech personnel with Operations?” 

Mark swallows his beer quickly before it comes out of his nose. He ends ups with a painful gassy lump sliding down his oesophagus that he has to surreptitiously let out after. 

“No.. umm… I meant he’s my… _partner_ —,” Alistair still looks confused, “—my boyfriend. He’s waiting for me to finish up.” 

That sends Alistair into shock for a good half a minute before he recovers enough to say, “Ahh… so that explains the sandwich. I thought terribly odd that you would have a grumpy intern to bring you lunch and cut up your sandwich.”

Alistair and Mark share a laugh. Q only manages a meek * _Hah!_ …* before the words catch up to him.

“What sandwich?” it’s Q’s turn to look bewildered. 

“The sandwich at lunch… didn’t you notice?” Garry asks.

“Don’t be silly. They come like that—,” at Mark’s emphatic shake of the head, Q cuts his denial short.

“Q, are you seriously saying you’ve never noticed? I’ve seen him do that multiple times myself,” Mark challenges him incredulously. 

“I… You’re having me on,“ he refuses to fall for it even when his cheeks are starting to burn with embarrassment. _The cafeteria had always sold sandwiches that way!_

Before Q can protest further, Bond returns to the lounge. He’d taken the tie and jacket off to make himself more comfortable for what he expects is another hour. In his hand is Q’s mug, inside is a finger of Scotch that he’d stolen from Q’s bottom filing cabinet. If he has to endure another hour of Alistair fawning over _Benji_ and taking up Q’s attention, then no one can fault him.

One look at Q’s flushed cheeks and he is instantly suspicious. Well, that and the way all three boffins are staring owlishly at him.

“Everything alright?” he asks innocently enough but if you didn’t know Bond, you’d think it had an edge of warning to it. 

Alistair certainly takes it that way, especially taking into account the holster and gun that now is clearly on display.

“Hey, maybe we should call it a night. We’ve made pretty good progress,” Alistair is first to snap his laptop shut. The other two agree quickly and they pack up their mess in record time. 

As he leaves, Alistair says quietly to him, “See you tomorrow Benji.” 

This isn’t over yet. 

—

Once his visitors leave, Q turns around and just stares speechless. James however is oblivious, swirling the Scotch in his mug and weighing the car keys in his other hand - looking like he’s trying to decide if he should drink it or pour it away now that they’re leaving. He’s taking too long to decide. It’s good Scotch.

Q helps him out by taking the cup from him and finishing it, keeping an eye on him all the whole time. 

“What? Did something happen while I was gone?” Bond asks as he shrugs his jacket back on. “Did he try something? Would you like me to make him disappear?” he offers, a touch too eager. 

“No...“ Q answers with an eye roll. He puts the empty mug back down on his desk and sits on the edge, reversing their position from earlier in the evening. 

“James...,” he starts, reaching for the man and catching the lapel of his jacket, “… It has been pointed out to me that one cannot in fact purchase sandwiches in small triangles from the cafeteria.”

Bond regards him, perplexed. Q huffs, looking up at him. “Mark says you cut up my sandwiches. I told him the cafeteria makes it that way. Do you… cut up my food for me?” It was almost an accusation. 

James just shrugs slowly, looking away. _Oh my God! He does!_

“Oh my God James!” How many times has he done this and who else might have noticed? Q’s blush renews, spreading all the way to his ears. 

He’s miffed at himself for not noticing it before, embarrassed that James would broadcast their private lives this way (he still clings to the delusion that aside from Q-Branch and a few of his closest friends, no one knows) - yet utterly floored by the sweetness of the gesture. 

_Christ… he doesn’t deserve this man._ Bond is as frustratingly infuriating as they come - but every now and then, he turns around and does these little things; achingly sweet unsolicited gestures, understated but unmistakably considerate that makes Q fall for him over and over again.

“How is it that I’ve never noticed?” Q pulls him close by the lapels. James looks uncomfortable at being caught out. The man is a walking contradiction. He’d never verbally _admit_ to carrying out something so demonstratively affectionate - yet he’d still do it in front of a cafeteria full of colleagues. 

“You can buy me dinner to make up for your glaring oversight,” James suggests, jingling the car keys in his hand. 

“You’ve had dinner,” Q points out, poking him in the stomach with the corner of his phone as he gets up off the desk.

“A slice of pizza does not a dinner make. Besides I didn’t finish my lunch today,” James grouses. 

————— FIN ————————

Notes:

Oh, the wonders of modern mapping technology! Apple Maps has a feature called Flyover that allows you to see 3D renderings of cityscapes including parts of London. It pretty amazing to be able to manipulate the image in almost any direction and still get a stereoscopic image. 

Here is the flyover image of the SIS building made from Apple’s fancy camera work and algorithms. There appears to be an outdoor seating area somewhere around mid-height. I’m using at as the setting for the cafeteria.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes… I stole Alistair from London Spy - but his personality is more towards Charlie Hesketh in Kingsman. I know some people are huge fans of London Spy, this is not a crossover - I’m just lazy or ‘inspired’ by the characters, whichever you prefer. Sorry not sorry? HAHA.
> 
> As usual, if you enjoyed it, please leave a kudos, bookmark or comment!
> 
> Other stories available on the dashboard.


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